


Broken Shards

by echoes_of_another_life



Series: Shards from the Devil's Pyre [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Male Slash, Prostitution, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 09:45:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoes_of_another_life/pseuds/echoes_of_another_life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean was seventeen when he turned his first trick, his father gone longer than any other hunt that led him away from his sons and it looked like they were out of options. He’d expected it to be cheap, fast and dirty he hadn’t expected it to be slow, impassioned and so damn good. Hadn’t expected anything but to be used and come away a little richer in pocket but there was something about the other guy that told Dean that he had secrets of his own but then, what did he care?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Shards

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wings128](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wings128/gifts).



Broken Shards

Dean was seventeen when he turned his first trick. It was something he swore he would never do but this time they were really in it. John had been gone for almost two weeks and counting; longer than he had ever been before, even for November. Dean knew, perhaps even understood, why his father pushed himself harder, worked harder and drank harder but John had never left them alone this long before.

They’d all but used up any chance of pulling off another resource and Dean had hustled all but one of the bars in the small, unhurried town John had left them in. They had stayed too long their faces now too familiar and if Dean wanted to keep his looking the way it did he knew not to try again. The only place left gave him the creeps and that alone said all Dean needed to know about the place. He’d seen how the men, some of them anyway, treated what they thought were easy targets - which Dean wasn’t - but there was Sam to think of and he didn’t want what he’d seen happening in that bar to happen to his little brother. Sam could look out for himself but he was still just a kid; a year or so younger than the one he’d seen willingly led out the back of the bar by some bull of man. The guy had walked back in, jeans buttoned wrong, stained at the crotch and wearing a leering grin and, Dean guessed, a lighter wallet than he’d left with. The whole place reeked of the kind of trouble that could land them in deeper than they already were; Dean wasn’t stupid and they weren’t that desperate. But as he’d walked back to Sam, Dean had ignored the unspoken ‘yet’ that lingered in the shadows of the cold night air.

They couldn’t go back to the motel John had left them in because, as the manager was only too keen to tell them, the room was only paid up for the week and he wasn’t some charity case or babysitter. They’d signed in as Mr. Reikhman at another but after four days and no sign of an adult, the manageress had started asking questions and eyeing them warily. Not that that was his father’s fault, he’d only expected to be gone four days, five tops but it had to be something bad keeping him away, and unable to check in. 

Calling Pastor Jim was out of the question. Even if he could get the cash to them - which Dean knew he would - there was a reason Dean hadn’t made the call. Sam had had a feeling, it was probably nothing, stupid really, but the way he had looked at Dean when he had begged Dean not to tell Jim where they were _was_ something. Dad had gone and made no contact with them for almost a week… it wasn’t right. Something was wrong and Sam couldn’t explain, couldn’t tell Dean why, but there was fear in Sam’s voice and a look in his eye that told Dean he wasn’t messing with him; not this time, and Dean had learned to go with Sam’s gut even when Sam couldn’t explain it himself. 

Bobby was a no-go too. Things were rough enough between Bobby and John without Dean handing Bobby more ammunition for the shotgun he kept promising to introduce his father to. Dean hated that the two men he looked up to the most were at each other’s throats more often than not, and wasn’t about to add fuel to their fire.

The past two nights they’d eaten at the same diner, with its off-white linoleum floor, faded drapes and made-to-match tablecloths, it spoke of age rather than neglect and it was warm. The food was good and free thanks to the waitress who had taken pity on them, and watched as Dean counted out the last of the change in his pocket. She had looked from him to Sam with what Dean could only guess was a motherly expression before topping up their coffees and turning away, only to return with two servings of peach pie and whispered, _these are on me_. But they weren’t a charity case despite the fact they had nothing to their name but a rucksack of dirty clothes and a maxed out credit card.

Dean drank his second cup of coffee while Sam greedily ate the burger and fries Dean had determinedly paid for and forced on him with the lame-ass excuse that Sam needed the protein. The truth was, right now Dean really had no clue where the next meal was coming from and he needed to fill Sam with something more substantial than the chick food Sam insisted on whenever their father was away. Something hot and solid in case they had to spend another night camping out in the nearby woods. He watched Sam eat and remembered his brother’s scrawny body shivering against him and that’s when Dean decided.

They’d entered the diner tonight only when Dean was sure the same waitress was working the evening shift, had seen her wipe down the table nearest the window before throwing the towel over her shoulder and walking back to the counter. She’d smiled as Sam and Dean had entered and waved them over to a table, they’d taken the one at the rear, Dean with his back to wall so he could see the comings and goings. That’s when he’d seen him, recognised him from the bar he refused to hustle. 

The guy been alone then too, hunched forward slightly on a barstool with his back to the rowdiness and jeers of the other patrons and ignorant of the cold, biting breeze that blew in every time the rear exit door opened, or the age of some of those using it and why. He’d looked up once or twice but mostly he sat, cradling his drink like it had the answer to everything. 

Dean had watched the guy scan the diner when he entered, felt his gaze drift over him and linger on Sam before he took a seat where Dean was sure the guy could keep Sam in his line of sight. The bile rose in his throat and his finger itched to stroke the trigger of the gun that was tucked into the back of his jeans but then he thought of Sam; thought of how cold it got at night when all you had was a jacket and your brother’s back to keep you warm and he knew this was it. Now or another cold night listening to Sam pretend to sleep, while Dean scanned the trees for any movement or noise to warn that they weren’t alone.

He met the guy’s gaze and forced himself not to look away as curious, hazel eyes stared back at him. He wondered if that look meant the guy was hungry for something younger, more tender than what was on the menu he was feigning interest in offered. Dean figured it probably did if what he’d seen in the bar the night before was anything to go by, not that the guy had been a part of it but he sure hadn’t made any move to stop it. Dean watched his gaze drift to Sam, linger then shift back to Dean with a slight tilt to the corner of his mouth, and an eyebrow raised in question. Though what the question was Dean didn’t have a damn clue but he forced himself to go with it, for now. He swallowed and offered Sam a reassuring smile as he lifted his cup; at least his hand wasn’t shaking as much as his insides seemed to be. 

He’d had some experience sure, with girls - attractive ones - not fat, balding middle-aged men whose only exercise was staggering home from the bar each night. He knew he was being kind of harsh. If he was honest the guy wasn’t all that bad, wasn’t even fat or balding, not like the pieces of filth he’d seen the night before. This one was tall, taller than Dean, broad at the shoulder and dark haired, both his hair and the few days’ growth that covered his strong jaw. Dean grudgingly admitted to himself that the guy probably got it for free anyway and on a regular basis at that; he was maybe even good-looking in a rugged kind of way. Dean didn’t want to think of him like that, preferred instead to believe he was more like his first assessment, like the others, because it made it easier to hate him and Dean did hate him. He hated the way he looked at Sam, assessing and then back at Dean like he should know better, like whatever conclusion the guy had come to about the two of them was somehow Dean’s fault. It wasn’t Dean’s fault, and it wasn’t his father’s either, it was the life, the job and Dean was trying to make the best of a bad situation. Like this guy was any better. 

Dean had caught the interest in the other guy’s gaze, the way it lingered a little too long to be casual, knew exactly when his heart rate quickened and when his breath had hitched by the way his shoulders lifted, and he’d caught the way the guy had straightened in his seat and let his thighs spread just a little. Dean knew the signs, he’d had quite a good success rate with them himself; but whether or not the guy was aware of just how much he’d revealed in a few shirt minutes, Dean still didn’t know or just which one of them the guy was interested in. So he played along; whether he found Dean fuckable or a poor excuse for a role model - because that was the best case scenario, the other Dean didn’t want to even think about right now or ever - they needed a place to stay. Sam needed a bed, someplace safe until John could get back to them. Someplace Dean could patch up any wounds his father had, he was sure there’d be more than a few to explain why John been gone so long. Dean placed his cup on the table with a thud, his hand shaking slightly, nodded his head in the direction of the door and felt his gut twist as the guy smiled his assent.

He answered the guy with what he hoped was a smile just the right side of interested and growled, “grab your coat Sam.”

“Dean I don’t want to go back to those woods.”

“I know Sammy, I’ve got a plan,” Dean answered as he waited for his brother to shrug into his coat.

“You’re going to call Uncle Bobby?” Sam asked hopefully.

“Just follow my lead Sam and stay where I tell you to stay.”

“But Dean…”

“I mean it Sam; please have I ever let you down before?” Dean asked.

Sam shook his head, smiled a smile that quickly turned to a mutinous glare when Dean ruffled his hair. It was something Dean still did, hadn’t managed to stop doing, despite how much he knew it annoyed Sam now that he was getting older. He grinned and nudged Sam forward as they walked toward the door, Sam leading the way so Dean could keep himself between his brother and the other guy’s watchful gaze. Dean heard the metal scrape of a chair leg against the linoleum floor and felt the rapid thud of his heart, the rattle of change as it hit the table and his footstep almost faltered as he fought back the wave of dizziness that threatened. He reached out, put his hand on Sam’s shoulder and knew it would be worth it that Sam would be sleeping in a warm bed tonight.

“You done for the night Nate?” Dean heard the waitress ask. It was more familiar and friendlier than Dean had expected but then she’d taken pity on them, offered them a kindness too, so maybe that wasn’t anything to go by.

“Yeah, thanks Marie, figured I’d skip straight to dessert,” the guy replied. He sounded closer than Dean would have thought; so the guy was quick, quicker than Dean had given him credit for, he’d better remember that.

Dean ushered Sam out into the night, his fist curled protectively in the fabric of his brother’s jacket as he looked around. Trees lined the opposite side of the road, growing thicker as they spread out into the nearby woods and Dean knew not to go that way - too easy to lose sight of Sam if something went wrong. There was an entrance to an alley a couple of hundred feet to his left and a few run-down stores lined the rest of the street, all the way to the flickering street light on the corner. All were quiet and in darkness except the liquor store whose side wall helped create the alley. It was not ideal, even if its lights were on and Dean could see movement inside. Maybe the owner was decent who knew; he wasn’t about to take a chance with Sam’s safety and leave him standing on a street corner in a town where that was likely to be taken as an invitation. 

Maybe he was being unfair to the rest of the town’s population; it could’ve just been the wrong night to scope out that bar, the same wrong night everyone else as desperate as Dean had decided to take advantage of another’s moral compass and heavy wallet. He doubted it; he’d seen how easily the bigger man and the young kid had left the bar together without so much as a raised eyebrow. Sure the place had been busy but not too busy to offer the occasional whistle of encouragement as they they’d left. The older man had been big enough to stand out, and he’d attracted Dean’s attention but then Dean was just more attuned to notice people, to pay attention to what was going on around him, again he doubted it. It was the casual familiarity of a kid even younger than himself, unhindered except for the occasional look of lascivious intent as he worked the bar and the no-questions-asked beer in his own seventeen year old hand, as he’d scoped out the bar that had told Dean otherwise.

He gently pushed Sam in the direction of the liquor store, threw down his rucksack and looked around at the guy standing in the entrance to the alley, just watching them. Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out the few bills he’d squirreled away for an emergency and handed them to his brother.

“Sam you’re to stay here you hear me? Stay within distance of the light until you’re sure no one, especially that guy over there, is watching then go back to the diner and get a soda or one of those sundaes that you like and wait for me. Don’t come back outside. If the waitress asks, I had to make a call to Dad to come pick us up. If I’m not back in thirty minutes, forty-five at most you call Bobby.”

“But what if she starts questioning why you’re gone so long. What then, what do I say?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know, you’re the smart one think of something,” Dean snapped. He immediately regretted it when he saw Sam’s mouth turn downward in the beginning of a pout and reminded himself that the whole messed up situation wasn’t anyone’s fault least of all Sam’s. “I’m sorry Sammy, just please do this for me I’ll be as quick as I can, promise.”

“Dean but why, where are you going?”

“Just something I’ve gotta do. Do you have your butterfly knife?” Dean asked.

“Yes,” Sam answered.

“Your gun loaded?”

“Of course, Dean I’m not stupid.” Sam lifted his chin upward, pursed his lips and looked at Dean. “But why?”

“Relax Sam you know the drill, always have a backup plan, right? I’ll be back, don’t worry.”

“That’s what Dad said,” Sam muttered quietly.

Dean’s smile faded and he noticed Sam was no longer looking at him but past him to the guy standing only a few feet behind them, just out of earshot. Dean glanced over his shoulder and saw the man was showing signs of impatience, feet shuffling against concrete and a deep frown beginning to furrow his brow.

“Just do as I say Sam. Don’t leave the diner and don’t come near that alley, you hear me?” Dean shook the shoulder that until that moment he hadn’t noticed he still gripped. “No matter what.”

Sam shrugged his shoulders slightly, chewed his bottom lip and for a moment Dean wanted to reach out and brush the wayward strands of hair from his brother’s forehead but then Sam nodded and Dean caught but tried to ignore the stricken look on Sam’s face as he turned and walked back toward the alley.

The smell of urine and rotten leftover food no doubt thrown into the dumpster from the diner filled his nostrils as Dean followed the guy into the alley, which suited Dean fine. It seemed fitting for what they were about to do. 

He was so busy listening for a lighter footstep, to make sure that Sam hadn’t followed that he almost barrelled into the guy’s broad back where he came to an abrupt stop. Dean breathed a sigh of relief at the near miss, caught the other guy’s clean scent, at least he smelt good. He stepped back, knew to keep at least a few feet between them and grounded his boots, making sure he had a firm footing as he looked up into the guy’s face and tried for a smile.

“I hope you brought your wallet.” Dean held the smile and tried for a teasing rather than demanding tone, tried and failed.

“How much?” The guy asked.

“I’m not cheap,” Dean replied, glad that his voice was steady.

“You, but I thought..?”

The guy looked past Dean to the entrance of the alley with what sounded like anger in his voice and a hint of disappointment that rapidly spread to his face; but the look he gave Dean seemed more concerned than angry.

“What?” Dean asked. “You thought what?”

“The other kid?” The guy asked.

“Is just a kid,” Dean said.

“You shouldn’t have left him alone,” the other guy warned.

“What, I should have invited him to watch?” Dean asked, confused that the anger sounded more like it was being aimed at him. “He can take care of himself,” Dean defended.

“Yeah, maybe I’ll just see for myself,” the guy snapped back.

He made to push past Dean but Dean was ready, he reached behind him, shoved the other guy with his shoulder as he drew near, the element of surprise on his side and raised his gun, surer now that he was back on familiar ground.

“I can either fuck you or kill you,” Dean warned the ominous click of his gun’s hammer loud in the threatening silence. “Your choice.” 

“Easy there, no need to get all hot headed even if it does suit you.”

Dean saw him smile and he lifted his chin as the guy looked him over, his gaze wandering slowly down the length of Dean’s body then back up to look Dean in the face.

“You’ve got balls kid, I’ll give you that but I’ll be the one doing the fucking, now put the damn gun down,” the guy hissed. He pulled out his wallet, withdrew a wad of bills and pushed them toward Dean. His hand shook slightly despite his confident tone but it was enough to tell Dean that he wasn’t going to argue further, not with a gun aimed at his face.

Dean took the cash but wasn’t about to put the gun down to count it. He knew by the thickness there was enough to get them a couple of nights with a roof over their heads and a decent meal. His father would be back by then and Dean could let him make all the decisions.

“Hey, are we doing this or what?” The guy demanded some of his anger returning.

“We’re good,” Dean replied. “But the gun stays, get rough or make one move to leave this alley before I do and I blow a hole in the side of your head.”

The guy looked as if he might change his mind, demand his money back and just leave and Dean smiled his best smile the one reserved for the real pretty ones. He swallowed down the bile once more and reached for the button on his jeans while the other still held tight to the gun. He wasn’t about to take any chances not with just a few feet and a wall separating them from Sam; he was determined to keep his eyes open, and remember that the guy was faster than he looked.

“Here let me do that,” the guy asked. His name ricocheted inside Dean’s head and Dean wished to hell he hadn’t heard it because he knew he’d never forget it, not ever; but he’d be damned if he was going to use it, to let the sound of it pass his lips. He forced himself not to fight as the man took him by the shoulders and pushed him until he felt the wall at his back. Dean turned his head away from the entrance of the alley; he hadn’t wanted to take the chance of Sam seeing first-hand what his older brother was doing. This wasn’t him, it was the job, it was a bed for the night and food in their stomach, and it was getting through today and being grateful there was a chance of tomorrow. It was like Bobby had said in response to his father’s silence after Dean had made his first kill, returned soaked in blood red enough to be human - no matter how black its new owner’s eyes were.

_You do what you have to do, son, you do it because it’s the job and you shake it off and focus on tomorrow because there’s a whole world of evil out there and it ain’t gonna stop for a bleeding heart, it’ll eat you up and spit out your bones._

Sam would be back at the diner by now and would do what Dean had told him. Sam was safe. 

Dean cringed as the man popped the rest of the buttons on his jeans, lifted Dean’s shirt to reveal a sliver of tanned skin. He wished he’d just turn him around already and get it over with, but he didn’t, instead he dropped to his knees and kissed the skin just to the left of Dean’s navel. Dean forced himself to remain still, to not hit the guy over the head with the butt of his gun and just run. His tongue circled Dean’s navel, wet and hot and leaving a trail of saliva that Dean doubted would ever scrub off. Despite everything he could feel himself growing hard, he felt the cold night air brush against his skin as his jeans and boxers were pushed past his thighs; Dean gritted his teeth and stared up at the sky and tried to lose himself in the black nothingness above him.

“Seems like I’m going to get my money’s worth after all,” The man almost purred seconds before he licked a stripe of wetness along the underside of Dean’s cock.

“You like that?” The man asked as Dean felt his cock jerk.

“Sure it’s great, just fuck me already.” 

“Not yet, not until I’ve made you like it and you will.”

Dean doubted that, even as his cock began to swell and harden when Na… the other guy took him fully into his mouth, all the way in as his lips tightened around Dean before pulling back slowly. Dean felt a calloused hand stroke the skin of his inner thigh as the guy licked and teased around the ridge of Dean’s cock, over the tip before finally taking him back into his mouth and, sucking hard. Dean felt his cock twitch against the roof of the other guy’s mouth and he almost let out a groan, it wasn’t his fault if it felt good. He was seventeen - everything felt good - and he’d gotten hard more than once just from the flirty toss of a girl’s hair and the fresh, clean smell of her shampoo when she’d passed him in the hall. 

He was so lost in thought, remembering the waitress from two town’s back, memorable because it had been their first encounter with a werewolf, a real living, breathing werewolf that John had allowed his boys to help hunt, well Sam to research but Dean had helped track it. He’d been more excited than scared, an honest to God werewolf and John had been proud of them both. Proud of the information Sam had managed to gather about its hunting grounds and proud that Dean had remembered to stay down wind, to mask his scent as well as the sound of his boot clad feet. To control his breathing in the quiet of the woods, no flashlights to help give them an advantage just the pale shafts of light from the full moon that broke through the trees from time to time and made the most innocent shape seem dark and sinister. He’d hung back; just as he’d been ordered to as John moved in for the kill and watched with pride as his father took it down with a single shot of silver. They’d been celebrating in the diner, his father scribbling furiously in his journal, Sam pestering for every last detail, Dean’s senses already heightened from the hunt when the waitress approached their table, pressed in a little too close when she’d refilled his coffee, twice. The firm swell of her breasts above her uniform, her tiny waist and the curve of her ass as she leaned over and the clean, floral scent of her hair…

This time Dean did groan as the other guy gripped the base of his cock, jacked it and sucked hard and fast. His fingers tightened on the gun in his hand - anything to ground himself – while his free hand itched to take hold of the other guy’s head, twist his fingers in his hair, and yank him closer. Instead he made a fist against his own thigh, fingers clenched so hard he was sure his knuckles would be white for days and wondered if is his father would be proud if he could see him now.

Just when he thought he couldn’t take it any longer, was sure he was going to come, knew with just a couple of thrusts of his hips he would – and oh God, he wanted to, wanted to drive forward into the other guy’s mouth, with deep, long strokes just the way he liked it - the other guy eased back, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and rose to his feet.

“Damn you taste good.” He smiled and Dean noticed just how white and even his teeth were, stupid thing to notice but it was better than looking up and meeting the mocking gaze he knew would be there just by tone of the other guy’s voice.“Told you you’d like it.” 

He leaned in and Dean tried hard not to press himself even closer into the wall, as the other guy lowered his gaze to Dean’s mouth, licked his lips, and leaned in further. Dean turned his head just in time and heard the guy laugh, low and throaty as he dragged his mouth along the column of Dean’s throat instead, scraped his teeth across his jaw, up toward his ear and breathed, “turn around.”

Dean was unsure whether he’d turned around himself or whether the hand that gripped hard to his hip had turned him but either way his cheek was now pressed hard to cold concrete, and it scraped, even stung a little when he felt the weight of the other guy settle against his back. The warm breath in his hair gave some warning but he still flinched when he felt a light kiss pressed to the back of his neck.

“Tell me you’ve done this before because I’m hot and hard, and it’s killing me that I’m not already balls deep inside you, but kid you have to relax, otherwise I’m just going to take and be damned.” 

“Do it already!” Dean growled. With more bravado than courage, “And you’d be better be covered, or like I said, hole in the head.” Dean heard the guy laugh for the second time and tried to ignore the way his cock jerked at the sound.

“Kid for a consolation prize, you’re really kind of something. Spread your legs a little… easy… not too much.” The other guy said his tone kind, and patient, too patient as far as Dean was concerned. He didn’t know what game the guy was playing but he wasn’t fooling Dean, he still wasn’t sure of the guy’s motives when he had looked at Sam. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was a Winchester - Winchester’s were men of their word and honoured their deals - he’d have made good on his promise to ventilate the guy’s head.

Dean relaxed a little as he felt the weight ease from his back only to immediately tense again when he heard the sound of a zipper and the rustle of foil. He grunted when he was shoved back against the wall once more, the sting of bare brick less painful this time or maybe he’d just become accustomed to it. One strong arm circled his waist while the other stroked the back of his thigh, up along the crease of his ass, and slid down between his cheeks. He felt something cold and wet as the other guy rubbed gently against his entrance. A finger pushed in, slow at first then more forceful as the lubricant worked its way inside, became warmer as another finger joined the first and together pushed deeper. Dean’s cock twitched, hardened all over again and he couldn’t resist pushing back to meet the third as it stretched and filled him. He felt hot breath against the back of his neck, lips moist against his nape and fought the urge to let his head fall back against the weight behind him, as his body began to relax.

“Ready?”

Dean felt his internal muscles contract as the fingers were withdrawn, the fine prickle of hair on the back of his legs as the other guy stepped nearer, the strength in the other guy’s thighs as he pressed his hips tight and close. He held his breath when he felt the guy’s cock brush against his entrance and press in, grateful that the guy didn’t seem in any real hurry despite his earlier threat to just take what he wanted. What Dean wasn’t expecting was the welcoming heat that came with each slow press forward or the disappointment and sense of loss when he felt the guy - withdraw a little at first then all the way - until just the head of the other guy’s cock remained inside. There was only a second to adjust before the guy thrust forward again, surer this time, until he was fully sheathed within Dean.”

“Good?” The other guy asked and Dean wanted to tell him, yes, so good but he refused to give the guy even that much; but he couldn’t stop the slight nod of his head as he felt a hand reach around his hip and begin to stroke his cock. He wanted to take it back but it did feel good, better than even.

“Good, because that’s about as much nicety as I’ve got in me,” the guy said, and thrust, so deep and hard that a gasp of shocked pleasure was dragged from Dean’s parted lips.

There was something about the other guy’s voice that told Dean there was something there, something more which just served to confuse Dean further because despite the guy’s demeanour, the air of indifference interrupted briefly by flashes of anger his body betrayed him as much as Dean’s did. Showed a consideration that Dean found unsettling but he couldn’t hold the thought, couldn’t hold anything as warmth spread throughout his entire body, made his skin prickle and his mouth suddenly dry as desire rose and crackled between them. He heard the clatter of metal striking concrete as the gun fell from his hand and he reached out for purchase against the wall, found none, pressed his palms flat against the rough surface, fingers bending and stretching as his knuckles curved toward his palm, blunt fingernails scraped against brick with the need to hold on to something as heat caught fire.

“What’s your name?” The question was fast, breathed into his ear between hot, rapid bursts of puffed out breath followed by a sharp inhale that was caught, and held as Dean realised the other guy was waiting for an answer. He pulled hard on Dean’s cock, twisted on the upstroke, pulled back at the same time as he thrust forward, each thrust deeper than the last, no time to appreciate the feeling of fullness that came with it before the other guy withdrew again, paused, then stilled. Dean tried to push back against the other guy, wanted that feeling of fullness, wanted to experience it again but the other guy gripped his hip and held him in place.

“Name?” 

“Dean… it’s Dean,” Dean said and cried out, surprised as the other guy gripped his cock tighter, fisted him harder, thumb pressing down on the slit, rubbed in the moisture that leaked out before it swiped across the head, circled where ridge met shaft and scraped down the ridge that run the underside, all the way to the base.

“Hold on Dean, things are about to get interesting.”

Hold on to what Dean wondered but had no time to consider it as the other guy tightened his free hand around Dean’s waist and dragged him closer, lifted him slightly and began to thrust forward aggressively. The guy grunted into Dean’s neck as he held tight, Dean’s back to the other guy’s chest. He slammed one hand hard against the wall for balance; the other circled behind him and found purchase in the course thickness of the other guy’s hair, fingers twisting tight as he pushed back against each demanding thrust. His inner muscles clenched, then released as a slow burn began to build, with the other guy’s cock thick and hard inside him, its strokes coming faster, and shorter and Dean hoped his legs wouldn’t buckle beneath him as they began to shake involuntarily.

“That’s it, just let it happen, come on Dean.”

Dean heard the unsteadiness in the other guy’s voice, felt him straighten to his full height behind Dean before he withdrew completely and then slammed back. Once, then again, and Dean lost all ability to follow the rhythm, not even sure when he’d begun matching the other guy’s pace; just knew that he hadn’t expected it to be this good. He hadn’t expected anything but to be used and come away a little richer in pocket for it and now he just wanted to come, needed to. Dean knew by the way the other guy jacked him, harder and faster, his thrusts becoming faster too, shorter with no more demands or words of encouragement; just deep guttural grunts, which sounded even louder in the hushed darkness of the alley, that he burned for the same release Dean himself was chasing.

Dean bit down on the fullness of his bottom lip, tasted salt as a streak of sweat ran from his hairline and down his face. The other guy spoke his name, harsh, and urgent, and Dean stilled, cried out, and felt his release rush to meet the other guy’s urgent demand. His cock jerked and his muscles clenched tight around the other guy’s cock as he came wet and hard over the hand that held him. Dean groaned, loud as his cock pulsed thick ropey strands of come, groaned again as the other guy’s hand stilled its movement save for a slight clenching and unclenching of his fist for an instant before he withdrew his hand completely. He used it to press down on the back of Dean’s shoulder, forcing him forward, to bend over just a touch as he tightened his arm around Dean’s waist and thrust up, once, twice. Dean felt the guy’s cock twitch inside him, and, hit a certain spot inside that sent aftershocks throughout Dean’s body.

“Shit…Fuck… Don’t move Dean; just give me a second..?” The other guy asked and Dean felt him lower his head and rest it against Dean’s shoulder. Their unexpected passion was followed by an eerie quiet, and they were still for a moment, just shared breathing. Dean’s heartbeat pounded in his ears before that too slowed and evened out and he felt the other guy drag in a deep, shuddering breath as he pulled out and eased away from Dean.

Dean rested his head against the wall for a second, grabbed his bearings and straightened as he tucked his cock back into his shorts, hitched up his jeans and fastened them with fingers that shook, more than he would’ve liked. He daren’t linger, was still a little unsure how much time had passed, and a lot panicked that Sam might have already made the call to Bobby. Dean glanced over his shoulder, a quick check, was grateful that the other guy had put a little distance between them and stooped to retrieve his gun from where it had fallen, forgotten about until now.

“Relax Dean, I’m not going to hurt you or haven’t you figured that out by now?” The other guy asked as he fastened the top button on his own jeans and adjusted his jacket. That’s when Dean saw it, just for an instant, the well worn leather that fitted snug to the other guy’s side.

Dean had seen enough shoulder holsters to know what it was and he knew guns even better and though he’d only caught a quick glimpse, he had recognised it for a Glock model 21, 45 Caliber. It made no sense at all Dean had held his own gun on the other guy, had aimed it at his face, had even cocked back the hammer and yet the guy had done nothing even though he was carrying.

“You got a place to stay?” 

Dean tucked his own gun back into the waistband of his jeans, he was sure now that whatever the hell the other guy was about to say, he posed no real threat to him or Sam. Even if the way he looked at Sam back in the diner still bothered Dean.

“I said…” The other guy began.

“I heard you,” Dean said.

“Well?”

“Please, don’t act like you just haven’t wiped my come off your hand,” Dean answered. He was unsure now, uncomfortable under the other guy’s interest.

“Fair enough. So what, I stay here until you’re clear of the alley and you and your little friend have disappeared back to where you came from is that how this goes?” He asked.

Dean nodded and took a step back not sure he wanted to take another but he did.

“Want me to count, let’s say ten minutes?” The other guy smiled and Dean stiffened when he detected a faint trace of amusement.

“Sure if you can count that far.” Dean didn’t wait for an answer but got one anyway in the bark of laughter that followed Dean’s retreat from the alley. It sounded almost alien, rough and unused for a while but then what did he care? He didn’t. He wouldn’t. He had enough cash to keep Sam safe from the cold and the sort of creatures, both human and not, that would take advantage. 

He collected his rucksack from behind the dumpster where he’d dropped it when he’d entered the alley, and saw the look of cautious interest from the liquor store owner, as he reached to pull down the window shutter. Dean shook it off; tomorrow - the day after at the latest - his father would be back, stitched up and rested and they could put this place in their rear view mirror, just like every other town. No need to think of it as any different from any other place they’d stayed in, except now Dean had another piece of information to add to the building arsenal of fucked up shit that _did_ scare him. Something else he could add to the lengths that he would go to for his father, for his brother – for Sam. As Dean walked the few remaining feet to the not-quite-warm light that spilled into the cold darkness from the diner’s glass door and ignored the quiet rejoinder in his head that reminded him of just how good his first time had been.

…

“Everything okay Sheriff?”

Nate turned at the questioning voice and saw the owner of the liquor store lock its door and check the shutters, giving them a second tug just to be certain.

“Sure Pete,” Nate replied. He noted the other man raise an eyebrow, unconvinced and Nate motioned behind him. “Just thought I saw a young drifter wander down the alley back there, wanted to make sure he wasn’t planning on bedding down anyplace unsafe.”

Pete nodded satisfied, and gave the liquor store a final look over before he turned, blew on his hands to ward off the cold and walked away in the opposite direction.

There was a time when Nate would have done exactly that, would have offered to bring them home to his wife and watch with fondness as she fussed over them, offering them a second helping of her famous cherry pie, while he tracked down their parents or found them a shelter. But it was a long time since Nate had noticed the pain of others. It wasn’t that he didn’t care; he’d tried for a long time after Beth’s death to carry on like everything was normal and for the most part he’d pulled it off; showed just the right amount of interest, nodded in all the right places when people came to him with their misfortunes, recorded the official statements, he even offered them a tissue when they broke down while reciting back what had happened.

But it always came back to him at this time of year, the anniversary of her death. In the weeks building up to it, as it drew closer, it was like nothing and no one else existed. Nothing except the oblivion he found at the bottom of a bottle and the few hours he managed to sleep, that weren’t plagued with nightmares of crackling flames, searing heat and Beth’s scream. It was a scream that haunted his every waking moment. Its echo filled his head, its memory always scrabbling to find the smallest crack in the shroud of indifference he wore as the anniversary approached. A cloak of misery he was too weak to shake off until the date had passed. He remembered that scream but he couldn’t remember what her lips felt like on his.

But tonight the sound of her fear, and her pain as the flames beat a path across the ceiling and licked at her skin, had quietened just for a short while. He had recognised something in Dean, a look that the kid tried hard to hide but the thing about hiding was you could only hide from those who hadn’t known what it felt like. Once you had experienced unimaginable horror, seen and felt the cruel hand fate sometimes dealt, you tended to see it in others; no matter how far down it was buried. 

If it hadn’t been for the other one, the younger one, he would have missed it entirely; not even bothered to look. After all, what could a kid as young as Dean know about what was really out there in the dark, even Nate wasn’t sure. He just knew there was something, something not quite natural. His eyes had been drawn to the younger one instantly, and his immediate thought was that he was another of the seemingly parentless kids that had turned up in town a few weeks ago. The ones that were hanging out at the old bar at the edge of town, although he was younger he was definitely beautiful enough, which he acknowledged was a strange thought but it seemed the only thing they had in common other than arriving in town at exactly the same time. But he’d soon been distracted from that line of thought by the boy’s smile, the unruly fall of hair against his forehead and the childlike swing of his leg beneath the table. The shroud of indifference had cracked, allowed his past to find purchase, as it squeezed around his heart like a vice. Joshua had had the same rich brown tones to his hair; it was just at the length where it too would fall down and rest against his forehead, _and_ he would have been around the same age if he’d been the father he should have been – if he’d saved him but the shock of seeing Beth, his Beth pinned to the ceiling like she was… nightdress stained red with the blood that seeped from her abdomen had… oh hell, he didn’t know. He couldn’t explain it; wasn’t even sure it had been real, or was just another nightmare his brain conjured each night to torment him. 

But the fire had been real and by the time he’d torn his eyes away from Beth…

Nate closed his eyes against the memory of his boy’s burning crib, made a fist and felt the scars that marred his palms where he’d tried… Thirteen years was a long time and he’d never let himself wonder what his son would have looked like now; not until he’d seen the younger boy with Dean and a vision of that night had smashed into awareness. He couldn’t explain why, but he’d wanted to snatch the younger boy, put himself between him and Dean and demand to know what the hell was going on. Then he’d heard the boy laugh, seen the way Dean teased him. There was no cruelty there, no hint of an ulterior motive, just the sheer joy that lit Dean’s face at the sound of the younger one’s delight and amusement. Nate got the feeling they shared more than a plate of fries over a light-hearted joke in some run-down diner. There was a bond there, something that took years to build, trust and secrets and knowing unreservedly, that each would do _anything_ for the other. If there was any doubt it had been quashed as the joy had faded from Dean’s face, gave way to a frightening look of fury focused solely on Nate, when Dean had noticed his interest in the younger boy. That’s why he’d let Dean have the upper hand in the alley, because he’d known without a second’s pause that Dean wasn’t bluffing. He’d shoot and without giving an instant’s care for Nate, as long as it meant the younger one – his brother was safe, Nate was sure of it.

Nate wished his motives for leading Dean away from his brother and down that alley had been altruistic. He could see there was more to them being out so late and on their own; he’d been in the job too long not to notice something wasn’t right. The truth was he’d seen the joy and witnessed the fury, both emotions so raw and unrestrained, had himself been pushed to the edge of breaking by each and something told Nate that Dean was more man than boy, controlled until he wasn’t. Nate had wanted to be the one to push that control, hold it in his hands and feel it as it crumbled until the unrestrained opened up beneath him, took him in, and cradled him in its embrace. Nate knew moments like that didn’t come around all that often and were rarely forgotten when they did, but he’d needed to forget, needed something to replace the nightmares that followed him down into sleep. He’d tried so many times – God how he’d tried - had sheathed himself inside one body after another but that’s all they had been until tonight, a hollow, meaningless consolation. Until tonight when he’d been on the receiving end of something with someone who gave with every fibre of their being.

He should regret his actions of tonight, his selfishness, but he liked to think he had given something too; something he’d never done with any of his other hook ups before. He did feel regret, but it was that he’d never got to taste, to feel - just once - what Dean’s lips felt like on his; because he remembered her scream but couldn’t remember what her lips felt like on his and wanted, needed to remember.

Nate sighed to the bottom of his lungs; it was time to shake off the shroud. Thanks to Dean he felt stronger, more connected and he’d need that strength over the next few days. He’d heard back from the Commission’s vote that morning, not that he doubted it would go in their favour, after the evidence they’d provided. All the man hours and having to bite back his disgust, keep his fists in check and not just his but those of several outside, unrecognisable deputies had been worth it. Sometimes his demeanour of indifference paid off and even proved helpful. Tomorrow he had a liquor licence to revoke, a bar to shut down and several arrests warrants that he was more than happy to enforce. Then maybe, just maybe he’d find out what hell was going on in his normally peaceful, law-abiding town that made honest hard working people turn their backs on their community and their principles. Nate felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle as the thought surfaced unbidden in his head that again, it was something not quite natural.

After that? Well one day at a time he had to get through the rest of today first. He checked his watch to make sure enough time had passed, made good on his promise even though he’d made light of it earlier, he knew he was no threat, even if Dean didn’t. Nate started walking, had taken several steps in the direction of the diner before he realised and told himself it wasn’t because he knew that’s exactly where Dean would have gone. It was the safest place in town to leave his brother. He took another step towards the diner and forced himself to stop, to turn around and walk back to where he’d left his patrol car, if he wanted to leave Dean with the impression he could be trusted then keeping his word would carry more weight than a thousand words of persuasion. Nate wasn’t sure why it mattered but somehow it just did.

…

Dean shut the motel room door, leaned back against it and watched Sam drop down onto the bed and test the mattress with a little bounce.

“You want the first shower?” Sam asked.

“Nah, you take it,” Dean replied. 

He checked his phone, no missed calls, checked his pockets to make sure the rest of the money was still there, pulled his gun from the back of his jeans and released the magazine catch, caught the clip between his fingers, and noted it was fully loaded. He pushed it back into place before setting the gun down on the bed side cabinet along with his phone; he hitched up the leg of his jeans. Sure enough the hilt of his knife was still visible and tucked securely down the inside of his boot. Dean frowned as he scrubbed his hand over his face and up into his hair; he’d lost something he was sure of it but couldn’t place what. He jumped as his phone vibrated and danced eagerly in a circle against the wood until Dean picked it up.

“Dad?” Dean breathed out a sigh of relief, everything else forgotten. Whatever it was would come back to him, or it couldn’t be anything important. He had his brother and his father was safe, more tired and beat up than Dean had ever heard him, but safe, and only a day’s drive from them.

What else could there possibly be?

**Author's Note:**

> I began this with the intention of it being a one shot but the story took an entirely different direction than I'd planned and refused to alter its course. That and my OMC decided he wanted an identity, a past and to see Dean again and I found myself intrigued as to what exactly is going on in that town so this story isn't finished and a sequel is already being written.


End file.
